


Son of Odin

by wbss21



Category: The Avengers, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Loki Needs a Hug, Odin Needs A Hug, Odin's A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 07:24:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2764700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wbss21/pseuds/wbss21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eir had declared, upon completing her examination of the boy, grim faced and tone heavy, that he would likely not live past another week, and that he and the All-Mother would do well to begin planning funerary rites. That assuming the All-Father did not just simply intend to have the child sent back to whence it had come, to expire as it had been meant to expire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Loki is a frail child.

Odin can do naught but acknowledge this truth now, begrudging an acknowledgement though it may be.

He had hoped, perhaps foolishly, when he’d first taken the boy in from the wastes of Jotunehim, that his lack of size and strength had merely been a result of what had been obvious and severe neglect, and that, eventually, he would outgrow it.

The child had been badly underfed, malnourished and left exposed for what must have been several days, to temperatures which could easily have brought death to even the hardiest and most hale of Aesir men if abandoned in such similar fashion.

That the child had survived as long as he did, that he had survived at all, was nothing short of a miracle.

Eir had declared, upon completing her examination of the boy, grim faced and tone heavy, that he would likely not live past another week, and that he and the All-Mother would do well to begin planning funerary rites. That assuming the All-Father did not just simply intend to have the child sent back to whence it had come, to expire as it had been meant to expire.

But Frigga would not hear of it, and in truth, Odin had not the heart to send the boy back to that Hel forsaken land. Back to that cold, prolonged and painful death.

And so they had kept the child, fully expecting him to die and die soon.

They did as their head healer advised, making the necessary arrangements, steeling themselves for the loss, not of a yet loved member of their small family, but an innocent being yet, who did not deserve to die so young.

A week came and went, and still the boy remained. And both he and his wife waited in dread filled anticipation, expecting the pall of his demise to arrive any day then.

They did not bother with giving him a name, knowing to do so would only worsen the pain of his inevitable loss. Though they did everything in their power to make comfortable his life, little what they were certain remained of it.

Nor did they tell Thor of him, not wanting to expose a child so young to a thing so ugly.

Another week, and then another, and somehow the boy clung stubbornly to life.

He barely grew stronger in that time. His health scarcely improving. 

But he did not die, and both Odin and Frigga began, in turn, to grow fond of, even attached to the boy.

Still, they had worried, and it was not until Eir herself declared the child likely to go on living, when finally they had nursed him, if not back to health, then in the least, farther from death than he’d been, they finally bestowed a name upon him.

Loki, Frigga had chosen, and Odin had thought it a fine name.

They had made quick work of establishing a story to tell both the Kingdom and Thor himself, easily believed for the months Frigga had spent hidden away to the royal wing while Odin had been off to war. 

The only one’s who knew the truth of their adopted son were themselves, Eir and Heimdall, their Watcher. Both of whom Odin knew he could trust to not speak a word of Loki’s true heritage.

And Thor… Thor had taken immediately to the tiny child. 

Already a growing boy, near old enough to begin weapons training, Thor had been instantly protective of Loki, handling him with a care and concern neither the King nor his wife had ever before observed in their usually rambunctious, energetic son.

He’d been filled with questions, naturally, the first among them a worry filled query as to his new brother’s size.

“Why is he so small?” Thor had asked, gazing up at both Odin and Frigga with distraught eyes.

And that had been a question difficult to answer.

Loki had been small not merely in contrast to an infant of the Aesir, which still he had been, but next to the babes of his true kin, he was what the Jotnar might only describe as deformed. 

Not in that he was not perfectly shaped, for indeed he was. But his size was beyond remarkable in its demureness. It had not taken Odin more than one glance at the boy to know the reasoning behind his abandonment. Likely, Laufey, for Loki was Laufey’s son, had not believed the child capable of surviving the harsh climate of Jotunheim, not small as he was, and in truth, that belief had been steeped in probability. Beyond that, strength and power, above all else, were prized assets among the Jotnar. 

Loki’s physical frailty would have brought nothing but immense shame to the Jotun King.

It was more like than not none beyond Laufey himself, and whatever woman had birthed the child, knew of Loki’s existence at all.

And that was just as well for Odin and his wife. 

Loki had, over the years, become a true son to them, as loved and cherished as Thor himself.

Though still Odin had thought, perhaps one day, if the boy so wished it, when they would reveal his true heritage to him, he might return to Jotunheim, to rule as her King, and broker a new age of peace and understanding between the two Realms.

But such possibilities remained centuries away.

And Odin’s concern lies now with Loki’s most fragile constitution.

It has been this way since the beginning, and the King thinks to himself he should not continue to feel so distraught, so anxious each time his youngest falls ill. It has been such a recurring circumstance.

But Odin cannot help himself, the furrow along his brow deep and worried as he stares down at his child, lying pale and still, face and body beaded with sweat from how his fever burns him hot.

Odin holds Loki’s hand, dwarfed within his own, and he is amazed still at how tiny, how fragile the boy is. The All-Father realizes, as he gazes down on him, Loki is perhaps half so big as he should be at his age, if indeed he were even Aesir.

A Frost Giant at Loki’s age would be big as Odin himself.

The King contemplates his son as he looks upon his gaunt, too thin face.

Loki is a strange child, that he cannot deny.

He is painfully intelligent. Painfully, Odin thinks, for the boy sees entirely too much, understands entirely too much for one so young, and it causes in Loki a burden, and at times it seems, a grief, most unnatural to any child his age or even centuries older.

Perhaps it is the Norns, gifting Loki such a burning bright mind to equal out the fragility of his body.

Sometimes, though, it would seem more a curse than a gift, to grasp the world around you so completely.

Odin struggles to relate to him, though try he does.

In every way, he is perfectly opposite his older brother, whom Odin has always held a deep connection with and understanding of, for how like him at his age Thor is.

Where his eldest is whole and hale and demonstrating already a physical strength of legendary proportions, spoken of in awed and venerating tones, Loki spends more than half his days confined to bed, either within Eir’s halls of healing, or when he is not so very sick, his own chambers, denied leave until he is so determined well enough.

And where Thor is boisterous and outgoing and popular, charming and well liked, Loki is shy, and withdrawn and timid. Rarely does he speak, and when he does, it is with the lightness of a whisper, caught only if already you are paying your undivided attention to him and straining your ears for his voice.

And where Thor is surrounded constantly by other children, closest to him being Sif, Fandral and Hogun, where his friends are numerous and enthused in their companionship to him, Loki remains without such company. Has no, true friends to call his own.

He tags along after his older brother with a fierce and sometimes blind loyalty, and because of Thor’s instance, Loki is allowed to participate in their games and outings. 

But Odin is not so oblivious as to miss the way the other children sneer at and dislike Loki. They tolerate him, because Thor demands it of them. But only just.

More than once has been the occasion, Loki has come home from a day out among them, bruised and battered where the rest of them are not, and the old King knows he is being bullied.

It fills Odin with a despair, knowing it. Knowing that Loki does endure such treatment if that be the price of spending time with his brother, whom he so obviously adores.

Knowing that the other children attack Loki because to him they cannot relate.

Indeed, there are moments when the All-Father worries that somehow it will be discovered, the truth about what his son is. For his frailty alone, his youngest is an anomaly among the Aesir. There has never been a child born upon this Realm so constantly plagued by illness. Nor so physically weak.

Loki’s unusually mature disposition, his intense seriousness, lends only more to the growing dislike and mistrust for him amongst his peers.

There is a thoughtfulness, an introspection and outwardly awareness to Loki which Odin himself has found strangely unsettling.

At times, he will find the boy staring at him with an unflinching intensity, a kind of question in his eyes, undercut by a thing closer to longing, even… sorrow.

And it looks so wrong on the boy. On such a youthful face.

Children are meant to be without burden. Without fear or worry of that sort.

It is a sadness, Odin supposes, which Loki has to him.

And mayhap he should not be so surprised by it, for the despair the child has already experienced in his short life. 

Though he may not remember being abandoned, left to die alone in the cold, undoubtedly, the All-Father is certain, there remains in Loki the impression of such utter rejection.

He senses it, if he does not know it.

It is, Odin supposes, the same reason for Loki’s oft suffered bouts of anxiety.

The child often becomes, seemingly out of nowhere, severely distraught and so wound with nervous tension, he feels as nothing so much as a bow string pulled taught, the times the All-Father has attempted to hold and sooth him from his attacks.

Loki cries during such episodes. Bursts into painful, heaving sobs, with no real, clear trigger to trace the distress back to. Sometimes it takes hours to calm him. And during such displays, Odin has found himself unable to cope, removing himself entirely the boy’s presence, leaving the matter to his wife.

Odin is wrought with a sense of guilt and regret following, knowing he should be there for his son when he is so inexplicably frightened. But it is just such an awful thing to behold.

Odin, All-Father, King of the gods of Asgard, who has faced innumerable of the most vicious and blood-thirsty of enemies upon countless fields of battle, and he finds himself frightened of a little boys tears.

The irony of it fails to amuse him.

His attention is drawn from his musings when he feels Loki’s fingers shift and spasm within his grasp, and he lowers his gaze to the boys face, seeing his son’s eyes begin to flutter open, looking out blearily and unfocused at the ceiling above him.

His lips are dried to cracking, dry saliva gathering at the corners of his mouth, and Odin sees him swallow thickly several times over.

His youngest is used to this, Odin thinks dismally. Used to waking up here, in this place, upon his back and in pain, unable to really focus through the haze of his fever.

The King reaches then for the basin filled with lukewarm water, gathering up the cloth floating in it, ringing it out before bringing it to rest upon Loki’s forehead.

Only then does the child seem to realize his presence, green eyes shifting, landing on Odin’s face and struggling for long seconds to clear in recognition.

“Papa…” he croaks, voice dry as dust and barely even a whisper.

Odin smiles down at him, and he can feel how his own expression is strained.

“Aye boy, ‘tis me.” He gives Loki’s hand a gentle squeeze. “How fare you?”

It is a ridiculous question.

He need only take the briefest of glances at his son to know he suffers.

Loki’s eyes slide from him, tears gathering thick at their corners and slipping free, down his temples, tracking into the dark locks of his hairline. 

He swallows again, and his thin chest rattles with his next, labored breath.

“I am well.” He answers after a long moment, voice youthful and small.

The All-Father feels an unpleasant lurch through is insides.

Loki is too young for this. Too young to have to fight for his life like this. Too young to feel such pride that he lies with the maturity of a grown man and hides the fact of his struggling.

Odin knows not how he came to be this way. Norns, he isn’t yet old enough to begin weapons training.

And he knows not how to respond to such defiance in his boy either. 

It feels wrong, in some way, to check him on his claim of well being.

“That is fine then.” The King settles on, again squeezing Loki’s tiny fingers. “You are a strong boy. You’ll soon be out of here again.”

At that, Loki’s eyes shift back to him, and for a moment, there is such a raw, naked expression of fear upon the child’s face, that Odin feels his own throat tighten in dismay.

“Papa, I’m…” he starts, and then his voice trails off, more tears slipping from the corners of his eyes.

“Speak then…” Odin encourages, gentle and hushed.

“I’m sorry.” Loki says, and his voice wavers, cracking and thin. “I’m sorry.”

Odin frowns, forcing the tightness of his throat away, feeling his teeth clench a moment.

“No need for that, child.” He at last answers. “You must simply work at getting better. And that means rest.”

He removes the cloth from Loki’s forehead, wiping it gingerly across his lips, washing the spittle away before dumping it back in the basin.

“Can you do that for me Loki?” He asks.

Loki nods weakly, his lids already growing heavy, already beginning to drift closed.

“Good boy.” Odin whispers to him.

He waits until the child is again sleeping, chest rising and falling in a steady, if shallow, rhythm, before allowing himself to stand from his son’s bedside and take his leave.


	2. Chapter 2

Odin watches his youngest son with a narrowed, concerned eye.

Today is the boy’s first day of weapons training, and it is not going well.

Odin had earlier spoken with Tyr about taking the lessons with Loki slow for a while, and Tyr had nodded his understanding without question.

Loki’s fragility was known well throughout the Kingdom, both to the child’s benefit and detriment. Here, the All-Father had hoped it would work in his son’s favor, in that the expectation of him would not be placed so high, and Tyr, known for his unyielding and harsh approach towards his students, would not be so towards the second Prince.

Odin had not considered the possibility that Loki might perform so poorly even in such softened circumstances, and thus be humiliated in the process. But that was precisely what was occurring before him.

Tyr, graciously, had placed Loki in to practice with a boy several years his younger, and also in only his first day of weapons training. 

Still, even being so, the other boy was nearly twice Loki’s size, and, as was becoming increasingly clear, several times stronger still. Clumsy and inexperienced as the boy’s movements were, he’d been tossing Loki around like a child’s doll, knocking Loki’s wooden practice sword from his hands every time the fancy took him to do so, knocking Loki to the hard packed dirt with as great frequency and ease.

Loki’s small hands were already bruised raw and pink across his knuckles where the other boy had thwacked him repeatedly in his attempts to disarm the Prince, and Odin could see even from a distance the tremors beginning through Loki’s waifish frame as the exhaustion and pain from being repeatedly thrown to the ground began to take hold.

Odin folds his arms across his chest, shoulder’s rigid and tension high as he watches the boy, for what must be the tenth time in as many minutes, force Loki to the ground. And the child’s success must be making him bold, for this time he doesn’t step away and allow Loki to get back to his feet, instead dropping down and capturing the second Prince at his back, snaking an arm around his neck, hooking his ankles over Loki’s own and falling to his back, holding him in a rear naked choke.

Loki flails uselessly, getting nowhere, as he has neither the technique, nor the strength, to break free.

Odin feels his own tension mount as the other children watching the “match” begin shouting and hollering in unkind excitement, yelling encouragement towards his son’s opponent. 

“Finish him off already!” and “Make him sleep!” are among the words the King picks out.

Odin finds himself barely able to stand this.

He wants suddenly, powerfully, to jump into the arena and put a stop to this. To pull the little hel hound off his son and toss him aside like rubbish. But he knows if he does so, he will only make things worse for Loki, in the long term. His son is going to have to learn to face this, and overcome this, on his own.

Further, Odin knows that Tyr will step in and pull them apart before Loki can pass out, and so with difficulty, the King remains where he is, unmoving and silent.

It grows a more difficult task still, as he watches Loki’s struggles grow weaker and weaker as the seconds continue by, knowing his son is on the verge of being rendered unconscious. 

Odin feels embarrassed for Loki, and, grudging though he is to admit it, for himself as well.

He remembers Thor’s first day of weapons training.

How he had summarily and easily dispatched of every other student within and even several paces beyond his age and skill range. He remembers the swell of pride he’d felt that day, knowing he had produced so strong and skilled a child…

He had known not to expect the same of Loki. Only, he had hoped perhaps…

There comes a sudden, cacophonous roar from the gathered crowd, and Odin is snapped from his ruminations, watching in horror as the other boy, one arm still curled tight over Loki’s throat, lifts his other hand, curled into a fist, and begins clubbing the heel of his palm down and hard upon Loki’s face.

The crunch of Loki’s nose breaking can be heard even within the din of the uproar. Worse still, Loki’s guttural, anguished scream that follows.

The sound is like nothing so much as the terrified cry of an animal caught in a trap it knows not how to escape, Odin thinks. And when the boy again slams his palm against Loki’s already shattered nose, and Loki again screams out in fear, the King’s gaze snaps sharply to Tyr, ready to communicate to him to put a stop to the assault.

Relief floods him when he sees his head general already moving towards the scene, and ignores the boos and protests of the other children when Tyr at last, blessedly, pulls the boy off of his son.

Loki is distraught still, and Odin feels his chest constrict at the sight of his youngest child, as he gasps sharply for breath, rolling onto his side and coughing violently at the sudden intake of air.

Blood pours thick from his nose, spilling out onto the dirt, turning black with it. Deep bruising and swelling is already beginning to form across the bridge of Loki’s nose and around both of his eyes.

He continues to gasp for breath in between his fits of coughing, curling in on himself, shaking viciously.

Odin’s jaw tightens at the sound of laughter through the crowd, his gaze slipping away from Loki, fingers curling tight over his arms, still crossed at his chest.

He wants to go to his boy.

He knows he can’t. Not without making it worse.

Tyr is walking towards Loki now. He’d ended up having to push the other boy off, back behind the barriers of the training ring and calming his apparent blood lust. There had been a struggle when Tyr had initially pulled him off. He’d wanted to keep hitting Loki.

The general bends down, large hands taking hold Loki’s slim shoulders and helping him to sit up, patting his back gently, rubbing circles against it as the second Prince continues to fight to breathe.

There are tears, thick and streaming from behind Loki’s clamped lids, running tracks through the dirt covering his face. He is shaking visibly, the blood from his nose smeared and ugly across his upper lip and down his chin, soiling the front of his tunic.

Tyr is saying something to Loki, only Odin cannot hear what over the noise of the gathered students, though he can guess the general is offering words of comfort and reassurance.

Little good it seems to be doing, however, Loki trembling and bleeding and crying still.

Abruptly then, Loki flinches away from Tyr, crawling from him on hands and knees before staggering clumsily to his feet and running forward, towards where Odin stand behind the barriers.

His eyes are huge and wet and scared within his gaunt, pale face.

“Papa!” He cries, small voice tremulous and weak. “Papa!”

He crashes against the barrier, tiny hands reaching up, thin fingers curling over the lip. He stares up at Odin with pleading, terrified eyes, his face crumpled in pain and despair, and it’s all Odin can do not to reach down and sweep the boy up into his arms, kiss his head and tell him it will be alright.

The other children are already laughing at him. Their teasing will grow only more merciless and cruel should they see Loki being comforted by his father, by the King no less, when none of the others have ever shown such childish need.

Loki has already made his situation worse with this display.

“Papa, please!” Loki cries again, reaching up towards Odin, as if asking to be lifted. 

Loki is far too old for such behavior. Though he may still be small enough to be carried as a babe, the behavior is beneath him, most especially unbecoming for one of his station and rank.

Odin makes no move, torn between his instincts and his wisdom. Already he can hear the others laughter increasing in strength, and he wishes Loki would realize it to and stop this.

But his son seems oblivious to the scene he is creating, and when Odin makes no attempt to lift him, Loki instead tries pulling himself up onto the barrier, tries climbing over it to his Father.

“Papa please, I… I-I ww-wanna go home now. Please, I…”

“Loki, stop this!” Odin hisses at him, unable to keep the rising anger from his voice.

Loki flinches back at it, staring up at him with wide, confused eyes. His lip trembles as the rest of him, tears still running down his dusty cheeks.

“Papa?” He asks, and the dismay Odin hears in his voice causes his throat to momentarily close up. 

The All-Father forces himself not to react.

“You are making a fool of yourself and of me, boy.” Odin says instead. “Is this what you want? To bring shame upon my house?”

Fresh tears form thick in Loki’s eyes then, falling almost instantly.

He shakes his head vigorously, a harsh sob ripping from his throat as he does.

“Nn… no.” He says weakly. “No.”

“Then you will cease this childish behavior and conduct yourself in a manner appropriate a Prince of Asgard.” Odin pushes, having to fight to make himself say the words. “Go and resume your place among the other students. You will receive no special treatment here, boy. You should already know that.”

The expression across Loki’s face is absolutely crestfallen. Devastated. It is all Odin can do to keep his own, stoic features in place. 

Seconds pass by with dragging slowness, the All-Father keeping his gaze hard and unwavering upon his youngest child, until, at last, Loki seems to understand that he won’t be finding any help from his Father.

He steps back from the barrier, stumbling as he does and almost losing his footing.

His face turns down, eyes slipping away and arms coming up about himself, shoulders hunching.

It’s an all too familiar sight for Odin.

The sight of resignation in his boy.

“Y-yes Papa.” Loki stammers in hardly a whisper. “I-I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Odin sighs, feeling his shoulders slump slightly.

How is it he always manages to end up scolding this child when his intention is to comfort? And again, here Loki is, apologizing, meek and ashamed and humiliated. 

Norns, the boy hasn’t really done anything wrong. He’d tried his hardest. Odin knew that. He’d been able to see it, in how determinedly his son had faced off against an opponent he was really no match for. In the way he’d kept picking himself up out of the dirt and trying again, despite the futility of it. 

It had just become too much, by the end. What did he expect of the boy? It would be hard for anyone, to have to take so much punishment, especially when they weren’t used to it. Odin had to keep reminding himself that this was Loki’s first day, and that the rudimentary combat lessons he’d received from himself and Frigga weren’t in truth enough to make up the gap between Loki and his peers at this point.

Odin puts his hands on the railing around the ring, leaning forward.

He wants to call Loki back to him, to tell him he is sorry, and that Loki has no reason to apologize.

But he’s hesitated too long now. Loki is already turning away, walking back towards the other children, his gate, Odin now notices, hindered by a mild limp. He must have twisted his ankle while grappling with the other boy, the All-Father realizes with a heavy heart.

Tyr is telling the others to settle down as Loki walks in among them, though they’re hardly listening, staring at Loki with unhidden amusement, pointing towards him and giggling as he passes.

Loki keeps his face down, arms still around himself. He settles himself away from the others, as far as he’s allowed. Cut off. Separate. 

He wipes clumsily at his eyes and nose with the heel of his palm, and he looks so much like a child to Odin. 

He is a child, the All-Father corrects in his mind an instant after.

And not for the first time in his life, he finds himself lamenting that children in Asgard are expected to grow up so quickly.

He’s found himself with such thoughts only more frequently since he’d taken Loki into his family.

He looks at his youngest son, and thinks more than anyone, he should be allowed his childhood. 

He supposes, because, he looks at Loki, and sees already the profound damage wrought upon him for the fact he hasn’t been allowed at all.

For how little Loki ever acts like a boy at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, huge thank you's to all my readers! If you get a chance, please let me know what you think, and I hope you continue to enjoy!


	3. Chapter 3

Frigga’s eyes flash, bright with the power of her magic, her beautiful, usually serene features twisting into a snarled, vicious expression.

Odin stands across from her, unflinching and passive, even in the face of her rage.

“You…” she spits, indignation robbing her of articulation, gesturing towards him angrily. “Do you not realize what is… how this has affected him!?”

Odin sighs, his eyes at last casting away from her, roaming over the contents of their bed chamber.

“My wife…” he starts, voice soft and placating.

“You stand there, adopting a posture of calm, a demeanor of contentment, while your son has had to be taken to the healers, again. That is how upset he was Odin. If you had…”

Her hands come to her hair, fingers burying into the golden locks, tugging in impotent frustration, all her collected grace washing away.

And then the anger in her features washes away with it, replaced in an instant by overwhelming grief, crumpled and anguished.

“He could not stop crying Odin.” She goes on, her own voice suddenly thick with held back tears. “He could not breathe, he cried so hard. Do you understand? He could not pull air into his lungs. It was as though… it was as though he was suffocating! Oh, if you had seen it…”

She turns from him then, her hand coming up to cover her face, her shoulders trembling.

Odin feels his jaw tighten, his frame growing stiff.

Stupidly, he reaches out a hand, wanting to rest it on her shoulder, to tell her it is alright.

But he hesitates. And then his hand falls away.

It isn’t alright.

Offering her such false platitudes will do nothing but upset her further.

“I know not what would have happened, had I not thought to visit him in his rooms.” She says, voice think and wavering. “Oh Odin, I was… I was so afraid. I thought he might die. I’ve never seen him so upset. The sound of him trying to breathe…”

Odin swallows, folding his arms across his chest in an attempt to still the desire to move.

He wants abruptly to be away from this. Do go away and pretend it isn’t happening.

“What did Eir say then?” He asks instead, trying to keep the conversation within the realm of reason.

Frigga shakes her head.

“She says it was some manner of… of attack. An attack of panic, she said. Brought on by fear or sadness or some such.”

“But what is wrong with the boy?” Odin presses, not understanding. “That he could not breathe.”

Frigga turns back to him, wiping at her eyes. 

“Nothing.” She answers, and she sounds just as confused as Odin feels. “Nothing physical, this time. Eir says it was a physical reaction wrought by emotional distress.”

“Emotional distress?” The All-Father questions. “You mean to tell me this attack occurred because the boy was unhappy?”

“So Eir says. But he was not just unhappy, Odin. He was… he seemed almost terrified. As though he thought he had committed some indefensible grievance and surely we would disown him for it. I could hardly understand him, but Odin, what words I could, he… he spoke of being sorry, for disappointing you. For bringing you shame…”

Again, Odin sighs, guilt a sudden, oppressive weight against his chest.

He’d known Loki was upset over what had happened earlier on the training grounds. 

But he hadn’t thought this. He hadn’t realized…

Quickly, guilt turns to frustration.

“Bah! The boy is too sensitive!” He snaps, unthinkingly, the frustration turning to anger. “How does he expect to grow and better himself if he cannot shoulder a bit of criticism? I was only trying to help the child!”

“Odin, you know you cannot speak to him thusly! You know how words affect him!” The Queen says in return, voice pitching louder. 

“He needs to be stronger!” Odin yells back. “He is already frail in body, and Asgard does not forgive weakness! We cannot always protect him Frigga!”

“We cannot even protect him now!” She cries, the tears threatening in her eyes finally spilling over. “By the Norns, he is just a child! Why must you expect him to act as a man!? Why do you expect such strength from him!?”

“Thor at his age…” Odin begins, voice booming.

“BUT LOKI IS NOT THOR!” Frigga cuts him off.

Silence settles in the wake of their raised voices, cold and uncomfortable.

Both of their chests heave in the exertion of their anger, gazing back towards each other, helpless and lost.

Finally, Odin feels the tension drain away, out of his frame, his shoulders slumping.

“I know.” He says in barely more than a whisper, resigned.

“Then why do you treat him as though he should be?” Frigga shakes her head. “Why do you expect him to be?”

“I do not.” Odin denies. “It is only…” frustration again begins to mount in him as he searches for his words. “I know not how to speak to Loki. Thor is so simple by comparison. The boy is so confident, and whatever advice or criticism I have for him, it seems only to bolster that confidence. He sees it as a challenge to overcome. But Loki…”

He shakes his head, dismayed.

“He is like a leaf in winter. He is so brittle. It seems, even when I try to encourage him, it has only the opposite consequence. And he never speaks his mind. He never says how he is feeling. How am I to know how my words affect him, when he will not say?”

“Oh, husband.” Frigga shakes her head again. “I do not understand sometimes, how you can be so wise a king, and yet so foolish a father.”

“And what would you have me do!?” Odin snaps, agitated. “I am only doing as best I can.”

“Then you would do well to remember that of your son as well.” She returns.

She turns away then, beginning towards the doors.

Odin watches her go, saying nothing, and he waits when she reaches the threshold, pausing a moment.

“Eir was forced to give Loki a potion to calm him down. He’s in the healing rooms now. I encourage you to visit him.”

And with that, she is gone, leaving Odin alone with only his thoughts to keep him company.


	4. Chapter 4

Odin happens upon the scene purely by accident.

When he strides out onto one of the many overhanging balconies, adorning the palaces upper levels, and looks down upon the courtyard below.

There he sees his two sons, along with a group of other children. Some he recognizes as belonging to the various nobility who often frequent the royal grounds. Sons and daughters who had, in recent months, taken to befriending his own children.

Odin had been pleased to learn that it was so. Most especially for Loki, who had so few friends of his own. 

He being just barely tolerated by Thor’s more regular companions.

Thinking on it, the All-Father realizes he’s never truly seen Loki with another child outside of Thor’s presence, and the thought leaves the King feeling unsettled.

Though things at present seem well, the group of children below playing and laughing.

Loki, not unusually, does not laugh with them, and stands more at the fringes of the group, quiet. But the boy does not seem sullen or entirely withdrawn, as Odin often finds him.

He smiles on occasion, most often when Thor turns and addresses him specifically. 

They have with them wooden swords, Loki included, and are taking turns wielding the toy weapons against each other, the competition seemingly friendly and lighthearted. 

Though the other children are seemingly reluctant to engage Loki themselves, Thor is earnest in his inclusion of his younger brother, encouraging them in turn to parry and play with him, and it warms Odin to see.

Loki is the youngest of the group, though, and woefully small by comparison, and, Odin thinks, the reluctance comes as much from his second son as it does the other children. He seems frightened when they feint towards him, flinching back violently and stumbling away.

He seems only comfortable to trade blows with Thor. And that, the All-Father is sure, from simple familiarity and the knowledge that his older brother would never hurt him. Not purposefully.

The two of them have gotten into more than a few scuffles in which Thor had forgotten his own strength, accidentally injuring Loki. 

It was most usually Thor who had to be consoled in those instances, he would grow so upset with himself.

There is a lack of trust in Loki, Odin is beginning to realize. His eyes growing more and more suspicious, more wary by the day.

He looks upon most others as though he expects from them only violence and disgust.

It worries Odin, for how he knows it must dissuade other children only further from wanting to befriend Loki, when already the boy has such a difficult time of it.

And Odin knows too that such distrust is not unwarranted. Knows how in his youngest it was born from a near constant exposure to bullying and harassment. 

It is an awful cycle. One neither he nor his wife have found a solution to as yet.

They’d thought perhaps pairing Loki with children younger than him might prove successful. But the few times they’d tried had only ended in similar failure.

Loki was just too shy, painfully so, rarely making an effort at all to interact with the younger children. Eventually then, they would simply lose interest and go wandering off to play by themselves.

And then there was Loki’s almost ceaseless desire to be around Thor. Odin worries often over it. Thor was considerably older, as were most of his friends, and though Thor made the effort, the others had little patience for Loki and his shadowing of his older brother.

Most of all, the All-Father worries that their complaining about Loki will, eventually, affect Thor’s perception of it. 

And Loki idolizes Thor. That was only too clear, in the way he looked to him with wide, wonder filled eyes, and spoke of him, with the highest, more admiring regard. Spoke of him as though he were already the Realms greatest warrior, when Thor was still only a child himself.

If Thor were to start showing irritation for his little brother… if he were to start treating Loki the way so many of his friends did…

It would devastate Loki. There is no doubt in Odin’s mind.

He’s snapped from his thoughts when he hears Thor’s voice shout out loudly, followed by a chorus of excited chatter, and he sees the group of them go running from the courtyard, out onto a dirt covered pathway, quickly hidden from view by thickly grown hedges and shrubbery.

In the ruckus of it all, it takes the All-Father a long moment to notice that left behind still is Loki, and another boy, roughly Thor’s same size. Tall, with wide shoulders and sandy, blonde hair. Good looking, as all children of the Aesir tend to be.

The boy is crowding Loki, standing mere inches from him, towering over him by several inches.

Loki cowers back from him, staring up, and even from this distance, Odin can see the scared, stricken expression across his youngest son’s face.

It all happens within moments.

The boy says something, and Loki shakes his head, small arms coming up around himself.

And then the boy has his hands on Loki, and he’s shoving him back, hard enough to make the second Prince of Asgard stumble and lose his footing entirely, crashing to the ground hard.

Odin’s eye widens in anger and disbelief, his hands gripping the balcony’s railing and tightening, the stone groaning ominously under the power of his hold. 

He’d known Loki was bullied. Seeing it executed is another matter entirely.

The older boy is already turning and running off down the path, disappearing from sight a moment later.

Loki remains behind, still splayed on the ground, not even attempting to get up and follow.

He pushes himself up to a sitting position, and then to his knees, hunching in on himself, head bowed and even from up high, Odin can see him trembling.

The All-Father exhales sharply, anger mounting, warring abruptly with a deep and unwelcome pain at seeing his son’s distress.

He thinks to go to Loki then, already beginning to gather his power to teleport down to him.

Only he freezes on the cusp of it, eye widening further still, horror tearing through him as he watches his child suddenly, and violently, slap himself across the face. And then again, hard enough for the blow to be heard from where Odin stands.

The sight of it is so utterly shocking, that for a moment, the All-Father can only remain where he is, staring, bemused and uncomprehending.

What in Bor’s name was that, he wonders frantically.

The sight of it leaves him ill feeling, and uncomfortably close to afraid.

He doesn’t understand. Doesn’t understand at all.

By the time he recovers himself, and remembers his earlier instinct to go to his boy, Loki is already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, huge thank you’s to all my readers and/or reviewers! I hope you continue to enjoy the story! There will eventually be some bonding time between Loki and Odin in this story, but it’s just a matter of building to it.


	5. Chapter 5

When Loki's magic first comes in, it is Odin who is with him.

And while the All-Father thanks the Norns for his being there in such a moment, it makes the experience of it no less haunting.

No less so for how unexpected it is.

Thor, while he has in him the magic of the storm, and despite both Odin's and Frigga's own natural, innate seidr, had never developed in him the same connection to Yiggdrasil's power. Never had flowing through him that life energy.

But Loki…

Odin senses it building within his youngest, sudden and sharp and violent, minutes before it makes its presence obvious.

Loki senses it too, and is distraught for it.

The All-Father can scarcely believe what is happening himself. Loki is yet too young for such power to make itself known. Odin himself was far older, centuries older, when he discovered the energy of the World Tree flowed through his veins.

Older, and thus far better equipped to deal with the agony of such unequaled magic flaring to life within him.

He'd known what was happening. Had been nearly grown, and understood.

Loki is still centuries away from puberty, let alone manhood, and he doesn't understand at all.

He begins to cry, sobbing uncontrollably and clinging to Odin's robes in a way he hasn't since he was much younger still, asking desperately and panicked what it is that's happening to him.

Odin tries frantically to calm the boy, shushing him gently, arms wrapped about him, one hand cupping the crown of the child's head.

Even as he does so, he barks towards one of his royal guard to go and fetch both Eir and the Queen, immediately.

The wide eyed man simply nods his affirmative before scurrying off, undoubtedly relieved to be away from the wailing, violent weeping of the second Prince.

"Calm yourself, my son." Odin attempts, stroking his palm gently along the back of Loki's head. "You have powerful magic in you." He tries to explain, struggling to keep his own voice calm.

If what he's sensing is any indication, his own words are going to prove a woeful understatement.

The power he feels… Norns, it is unlike anything he's ever felt before.

Far, far stronger than anything he's ever felt in any child, let alone one so young. Stronger already than in many mages fully matured.

It might unsettle Odin, were he not now so distracted with simply trying to calm his son.

And it dawns on the All-Father then, the likely reason for Loki's physical frailty. Beyond simply being born so.

The reason why he hasn't yet grown truly stronger from those first, precarious days of his life.

To hold such power within demands its own energy. It taxes the body constantly to harbor the magic of the World Tree, something akin to pushing the body to its uppermost physical limits. And if one knows not how to control it… it is as though always being in such a state.

Whatever strength, whatever endurance Loki might have been able to build for himself, Odin realizes, it has been siphoning off in support of his magic.

The thought raises both hope and despair in the All-Father, for the possibility now of his youngest not being condemned to eternal frailty, and the promise further that he likely someday will grow into an immensely powerful sorcerer. Despair though for how Loki has already been made to suffer under the burden of his own gift, and the knowledge that, among the Aesir, men who practice magic are indeed looked lowly upon.

He knows himself to be an exception only for the fact of his Kingship.

And Loki is already so strikingly different. Already he has endured the pain of being unlike his peers.

"It hurts Papa…" Loki sobs desperately, his tiny hands clutching to the material of Odin's robes, shaking and weak. "it hurts."

"I know my boy." Odin tries to sooth, one hand cradling the back of Loki's head, palm wide enough to engulf the whole of it. "I know. You need only hold on a short while longer. Eir and your mother are on their way, and they will help you."

Loki responds by burying his face against the All-Father's chest, and through his palm splayed against the child's bony back, Odin can feel the deep shudders wracking his son's frame.

It is just when the magic rippling under the surface of Loki's skin begins, at last, to bleed out, a luminescent, shocking green to match the child's eyes, wrapping round him in a shimmering aura, both Eir and Frigga come rushing through the throne room's doors, making towards father and son with urgent strides.

Frigga's eyes are wide with shock and fear.

"What has happened?" She begins breathlessly, though it's clear from her expression she already knows well.

"I had him with me, thank the Norns." Odin starts, stepping aside at last as Eir kneels down, wasting no time in attending to Loki, taking the boy into her arms, uncapping with her teeth a vial of what Odin is certain must be a calming potion to put the child into a slumber, grateful in that moment for the head healers experience and expertise in dealing with their youngest son.

Scarcely a week has gone by in Loki's life when he hasn't had to be under her care for one reason or another.

"Odin," Frigga says, her voice now thick with awe. "this magic…"

Odin merely nods, eyes fixed on Loki and Eir as the healer cups the side of the boys face, holding the vial up to him with her free hand, bringing it to his lips and instructing him gently to drink.

Loki, as accustomed to being under Eir's care as much as she is to having him in her charge, obeys without question, grasping the glass vial with trembling hands and drinking the potion down.

Thank the Norns then, Loki slips into unconsciousness only moments later, and Eir lifts him up into her arms, one supporting under his bottom, the other hand cradling the back of his head as she presses his face to her shoulder.

"I must away with him to the halls of healing." She explains to both Odin and Frigga, and Odin gives a single nod.

"Aye, of course." He replies. "We will accompany you."

Without further word, the head healer turns, still holding Loki securely, the King and his wife following closely, silently behind.


	6. Chapter 6

The way to his study takes him past his son's private chambers, and quickly it catches Odin's attention  
how Loki's doors stand, unusually, wide open.

It strikes Odin odd enough that he finds himself stopping and peering past the doors threshold, into the visible foyer.

Loki, young as he still is, is strangely private, and almost always keeps the entry to his quarters closed up. Since his magic has developed, and he's begun to learn to control it, a gift he's quick proving himself brilliant in for the, at times, frightening speed with which he masters news spells and his even bizarrely advanced understanding of magical theory, he's begun warding his rooms doors against unwanted entry. 

While Odin feels undeniable pride in his youngest child for his obvious and immense talents, they have caused more than their fair share of trouble. 

Thor has come running to he and his wife on numerous occasions, complaining of his younger brother's refusal to allow him into his rooms, and has even appeared sporting minor burns along his fingers and palms for having set the wards off on Loki's doors.

Odin has had to take Loki to task for it, several times now, an always unpleasant experience, for the way the boy often grows overwhelmed by his emotions and has, more than once, broken down into inconsolable sobs, Frigga having to come those times and calm him down once more.

The boy is too sensitive, Odin thinks. He feels thing too keenly. And the King worries for it. To the point, even, that he has wondered many a time if there isn't something wrong with Loki. 

Certainly, the child has had a more difficult time of it than most his age. Has been exposed already to the pain of being different, and not understanding why he is, nor why it matters. Has experienced the hardship of being physically smaller and weaker than his peers. And now, unsurprisingly, the discovery of his magical nature has driven an even wider gap between him and the other children, and even some of the grown members of court. Those who are mistrustful of magic users, most especially those innately gifted ones, who's power is born in them, not something learned.

Still, Loki reacts severely, ofttimes badly to incidents which any healthy, well-adjusted child would simply shrug off without real notice. 

Odin has found, as has Thor and even Frigga that one must be inordinately careful when speaking to Loki, that one must take particular caution with their words to the boy, lest some comment intended in jest or otherwise light in meaning be interpreted by him as very much serious, very much literary and meant. 

Loki is oddly, as he is odd in so many ways, dour and somber for a child his age. Rarely now does he smile, or laugh.

When he does, then, it is all the more astonishing. Odin himself smiles, thinking of how his youngest child's face seems to light up when he does, his bright, intelligent eyes sparkling with a seldom seen joy, so alive and clear, it has in itself the power to make those around feel alike. 

Taken by a sudden urge to see his boy, realizing in that moment that he has not lain eyes on Loki since yesterday afternoon, he steps towards the open entry to the child's rooms, stepping carefully 'cross the threshold and into the foyer.

He has no idea if Loki is actually in his rooms, only he's filled with the sense somehow that he is.

Moving quietly forward, rounding the corner into the main sitting room, and he spots his son, sitting cross legged on the floor, his back to him.

Odin pauses, watching.

The boy appears to him to be drawing, the edge of a sheet of parchment just visible to Odin from where he stands.

It's something his son has found an interest in of late. Drawing, sketching, painting.

He isn't particularly good at it. At least, not yet. But it's something he enjoys. One of the few things these days he seems to. And so Odin and Frigga both have made it an effort to encourage him to it.

Standing there though, watching Loki, Odin feels his heart gradually sinking.

He's so small, his shoulders almost painfully slim and bony through his tunic.

He's hunched in on himself, defensive, as he often seems. 

No more than a wisp of a little boy. 

So very different to Thor, who for his age, is so intensely, thickly built, and so, so strong.

It strikes Odin in that moment alone how hard it's been for Loki. How difficult, for his younger son to keep pace with his older, to match Thor in any way. 

Odin has always realized how ardently, how earnestly Loki strives to impress him. Yet, he thinks, he never has truly understood it.

He likes to think he does nothing to inspire such... he supposes the word is desperation, in his son. He does not think himself so hard to please, so demanding or expecting. And yet often does Loki turn looks upon him of such timid and fearful hope, such worried longing, as though he is afraid of what he may observe, but still cannot keep himself from seeking it out, from needing to know.

And Frigga oft takes him to task for placing the same expectations on Loki as he does Thor...

It isn't something Odin feels himself conscious of, but if his wife observes the habit in him... she so usually can see himself more clearly than he is able.

Finally, watching his boy a few moments longer, Odin steps forward, into the room proper. Loki, strangely, has yet to take note of his presence. Something all have found, of late, more and more difficult to actually accomplish. Sneaking up on the second prince. And yet here Odin is, seeming to have achieved just that without any true effort or intent.

It sets concern off in his mind, and unthinkingly, he calls out to the boy.

“Loki.” He says.

A sharp gasp bursts forth from the child in the same instant he flinches violently upright, startled badly.

Reflexively, Loki stumbles to his feet, whirling round. His eyes are wide and plainly frightened, his small chest heaving and his face somehow paler than usual.

Only when his eyes come into focus, and the moment comes clear when he recognizes his father, does the rigidity and tension seem to ease out of him, albeit slowly.

Odin himself feels strangely uneasy, and instantly regretful for having so frightened his son, his hands raised up and placating.

“It's alright...” he begins softly, keeping his gaze fixed on the boy.

Slowly be begins to kneel down, making himself appear smaller.

Loki is watching him intently, even suspiciously, his breath still coming too hard and fast.

“F-Father...” he finally speaks, voice tremulous and weak. He sounds embarrassed, and Odin knows he is when his eyes flit away, to the floor. “I... I d-didn't hear you come in.”

He's gripping the drawing he'd been working on in his hands, having apparently taken it up when he stood, another reflexive action, and Odin can see the parchment is now crumpled between the boy's curled tight fingers. Can see the paper trembling, and realizes a moment later it's because Loki himself is shaking, pronouncedly.

He frowns, the unease growing as he wonders at it. At such a sever reaction towards being caught unawares. 

It isn't normal. It isn't right, that a child so young should be so stressful.

Finally resting on his knees, he still towers several inches over his son.

“Come.” He calls, beckoning towards himself with his hands.

Loki seems to hesitate a moment, still looking down, before finally he steps forward.

Once he's in arms reach, Odin takes him up, pulling him close.

Loki is stiff in his hold.

“What have you got there?” He tries asking his son as means of distraction.

Loki still won't look at him as he answers in a voice almost too soft to hear.

“Just... just a drawing.” He says, still gripping the parchment too tight.  
“May I see?” Odin presses, gently.

Loki glances at him quickly, for a moment his grip on the paper tightening even more.

“It... it isn't very good.” He stammers quietly, shyly.

“Oh?” Odin raises his eyebrows in questioning. “Perhaps I should be the judge of that.”

The boy looks away then, and the King can feel his small frame stiffen somehow further under his hands.

He's miscalculated again, Odin thinks dismally. Worse still, he can't begin to see how.

“Here,” he starts, hoping to recover the moment. He picks his son up off the floor then, lifting the boy onto his knee and holding him against his chest. “let's see.”

He holds his hand out, and Loki passes the drawing over without question, still keeping his eyes cast away.

It's done in charcoal, Odin sees quickly, and though still somewhat crude in its rendering, is so plainly a portrait of Thor. Somehow, despite the simplicity of the lines and shadowing, Loki has managed to capture his big brother's liveliness and spirit, eyes bright and charismatic as they look forward, a wide grin across his face which is so perfectly like the elder prince.

Odin smiles, glancing back to his son.

“This is very good Loki.” He tells the boy, sincerely.

Loki glances up at him then, eyes almost startled and, suddenly, over-bright.

He looks nearly in disbelief, and once again, Odin wonders at his youngest child's at times painfully apparent lack of self-regard.

That Loki seems shocked when others acknowledge him as having done a job well.

Odin tries to recall his own words to the boy. If, as Frigga often tells him, he truly gives praise stingily, even reluctantly.

Thor seems to take no issue with it, and, Odin thinks, he's every bit as demanding on his eldest as he is on his youngest.

Certainly, Loki struggles in ways Thor simply does not, and at times, the King will admit, that has caused him to grow exasperated and perhaps more chiding towards the second prince than otherwise.

It is only that he worries for Loki. He wants his son to do well. And when he sees him laboring to accomplish tasks so simple for near every child, it is as a knife to his heart, his spirits dampened and his mind heavy with fear and concern.

His wife tells him he must be more patient, more calm with Loki. Tells him Loki is of a far softer, more sensitive disposition than that of Thor, and that to raise them with the same attitude is wrong.

But, Odin thinks, he knows no other way to raise a child. His own father brought him up with a hard, at times harsh hand and expectation. That was just the way things were done among their people.

Here too, Odin thinks, Frigga would be quick to remind him Loki is not, in fact, of their people at all.

Though if all Odin has heard of the Jotnar is true, then had Loki been kept with Laufey and raised among the giants, his life would have been all the harsher, all the crueler.

That they left Loki to die from exposure to the cold, left him to starve and freeze, tells the King all he need know of the way the Jotnar treat their young.

Unconsciously, Odin's grip along Loki tightens protectively, pulling him closer against him.

“Where is your brother?” He asks softly. “Should you not be playing with him?”

At the question, Loki again turns away. He shrugs weakly, saying nothing.

“You know not where your brother is? Or you wish not to be in his company?” Odin asks, unsure.

There's a long moment of continued silence from the boy, before at last he answers in a voice near inaudible in its softness.

“... He went with his friends.” He says. “Th-they... they didn't want...”

He trails off then, seeming embarrassed, even ashamed.

Odin feels his heart sink slightly, already knowing what his son had meant to say.

That Thor and his friends hadn't wanted Loki to go with them. That specifically they'd told him he wasn't invited.

More and more of late, Thor had been giving in to the pressure of his peers. Loki was unpopular among the other children. That was to put it mildly. 

Since the inception of his magical nature, the bullying hadn't lessened. It had only grown more severe. 

And where Thor, so effortlessly well-liked, had before been so adamant over his little brother's inclusion in their games, had now begun to yield to the demands of others, and mimic their words of rejection towards Loki.

Loki, brave child that he was, put on a front of general indifference towards the changed treatment from his brother. Already, the child was proving an almost frighteningly good actor. He'd had Odin fooled by it, thinking his youngest not overmuch troubled by the shift. But, again, Frigga had told him otherwise. Told him she often found Loki huddled up in his rooms, or some secluded, isolated corner of the library, crying, because Thor and his friends had been unkind towards him.

And now it seems all too obvious to the King, the impact it's had and continues to have on the boy.

He's going to have to have a talk with Thor then, he thinks. Sit his eldest down and tell him he needs to work harder at including his younger sibling. Doubtless Thor will moan on about how Loki is sullying his own image by being... the way he is. Odin is simply going to have to inform the child that those things are unimportant, and that his duty is to his brother, to taking care of his brother.

It is especially true, Odin thinks, with one such as Loki. A boy who, in honesty, is in need of all the protection he can get. As All-Father, Odin knows he cannot always be seen showing favoritism towards his children, and the same holds true for the Queen. But Thor... Thor can lavish such attention and care on his brother. He can do so without consequence. At least, for now, when they are both still so young.

Lifting Loki up as he pushes himself to standing, he balances the boy on his hip, leaning back and trying to catch his son's eyes.

“I was just going to my study, to shore up details on a number of trade agreements. But I think it should go easier with some company. Would you like to join me?”

Again Loki turns disbelieving eyes on him, only now they are so heavy with naked, unvarnished hope, that for an instant, Odin feels his breath catch in his throat. For a moment, he feels as if he may be ill.

His son says nothing then, only wraps his arms round Odin's neck and buries his face against his shoulder.

Odin's one eye stings painfully then, and he lifts his free hand, cupping the back of Loki's head, bending a placing a kiss to his crown.

“Come then.” He says quietly.

And holding his son tight, he turns to walk with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So, I know I haven't been posting much at all lately, and I hope you'll forgive me! My computer crashed recently, and took with it a bunch of stuff I was working on. I'm going to have to take it to get fixed and hopefully recover all that work. I'm also working on other stuff, so don't worry, I haven't abandoned any of my stories. In the mean time, I wrote this and hope it suffices for now! Let me know what you think if you have a chance, and as always, thank you so much for reading!


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